Rainbows in the Water
by Ms Western Ink
Summary: When it rained, it poured. She did not enjoy summer showers or spring sprinkles… they were all sad days for her. [AM]
1. I

Rainbows in the Water

Part 1 of 3

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Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin.

Summary: When it rained, it poured. She did not enjoy summer showers or spring sprinkles… they were all sad days for her.

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**I **

The others watched her sadly. She'd been sitting there for an hour, silently, with her head upon the table. Eyes closed.

Misao always behaved this way when it rained. She always sat down, her vitality vanishing, her happiness popped like a precarious bubble. She sat stonily, a heavy cloud over her head, a deep frown etched upon her lips.

They hadn't seen Misao so despondent in the rain since before Aoshi returned almost sixteen months ago. Even when it rained, Misao was up and bouncing around, worrying over tea or clothes or umbrellas or colds.

Always something.

But Aoshi was gone now.

He was away...

"Wandering for his spirit", he'd said. Misao had taken the news well. Better than they all expected really. She'd nodded her head without a word and saw him off with the others, never uttering a single sound. Not even a goodbye, just a half-hearted wave. Before he was even out of sight, Misao was gone. Retreated back into the depths of the Aoiya, cloistered in her room.

Totally silent.

It had been almost six months since then. Six long months.

She'd done well. Surprising everyone. No one expected after that first week she'd pick up so well again, but she had. She continued on, as though Aoshi had never returned to the Aoiya with Kenshin and then left them again.

With the notable exception she'd never once mentioned him.

It was though he'd never existed.

At least, not to her.

She still bounced around and played and worked and laughed, but the joyous exclamations, her pondering, and worrying over Aoshi had all vanished.

Gone away to where? No one knew.

The rain continued to fall, the wind kicking at the building. Misao had never liked this weather.

As a child she'd refused to sleep, always crying for her "Aoshi-sama" to hold her. Aoshi, in the short time the man had spent at the Aoiya before leaving Misao with him, had always held her in the rain.

Misao only slept when Aoshi held her as child when storms battered the Aoiya. She didn't do that anymore. She hadn't called for Aoshi to hold her since she was very young, but when ever it did rain like it was, depression seemed to set in.

She'd sit down at the table with a cup of tea she wouldn't drink and put down her head. She'd wrap up in her favorite blanket and do nothing, absolutely nothing. She'd close her eyes and bury her face in her blanket and was completely unresponsive.

It was always hardest to see her this way.

On such days of severe storms the Aoiya was closed and the others hovered about, worrying over her well-being. Some tried to talk to her, but she didn't say anything. She just ignored everyone.

No one was ever sure if she was sleeping or resting or daydreaming or what... She never said anything, and she only did it when it rained.

Omasu slipped into the room and sat down by her side.

"I'll just warm your tea for you, okay?"

Misao didn't say anything and Omasu replaced her tea with fresh, warm liquid, inviting her to drink.

Omasu stared at her. Misao's delicate head was turned to one side, her beautiful hair peeking out over the lumpy hill of her blanket by her neck and trailing down her back. Her face was calm and not scrunched in worry or apprehension.

She looked very much at peace. As though this was Misao's time for meditation, the time of year she could settle down and just "be".

Omasu sighed.

Omasu had asked Misao once, in a long sunny period during the summer time, if she disliked rainstorms. The girl's demeanor had dimmed and she smiled a sad, slow smile. A smile that gave her face such a look of age and maturity, Omasu had been startled at the sight of her.

Misao had replied, her voice a quiet, gentle tone. "Rain is nature's day of mourning. It reminds me of everything I've lost."

The specifics on what she meant about that had been lost. Omasu hadn't the time to ask as Okon returned to the kitchen with several more orders from new customers and Misao had returned to working with the eggs.

It had been quite depressing, she recalled, that placid look on her face. Omasu, feeling a distinct sense of unease in the bleak atmosphere of the room, quickly stood and left. Maybe she could clean something up in the kitchen.

Okina looked up as Omasu left, and glanced toward Misao. So quiet, so unhappy, he thought. Nothing he'd done over the years had broken this dismal cycle. Nothing at all.

He'd tried every conceivable notion that had occurred to him. Songs, parties, gifts, nothing. Not even discussions about Aoshi were welcomed or received. She simply shut off and it broke their hearts to see it.

He remembered one ill-fated afternoon. The storm had come on suddenly. He'd come across her on his way back from the front of the Aoiya in the dining room and found her at a window. Her eyes had been cast wide, staring as though seeing something that horrified her beyond the glass. He moved to her side, pressing a hand comfortingly to her shoulder.

"All right? Misao?"

She snapped her head away from the window so quickly it looked like she might have injured herself. For a moment, her eyes closed, almost misty with tears before she turned and walked quietly to her room.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she'd said.

He'd gone up after her only to find her in bed, head down, face buried, and unresponsive to queries. Discouraged, he'd left her alone, but he and the others had checked on her frequently until the storm ended.

Morning brought sunshine and Misao again returned to her 'normal self', smiling and boisterous.

They had, for the most part, written it off as the 'mystery that is Misao', but the reoccurrence since Aoshi had left some six months ago was causing increasing alarm each time it happened.

What to do?

Should anything at all be done about it?

The raging storm was rapidly dimming. The thudding on the roof becoming a soft patter as the rain lightened, eventually stopping.

The howl of the wind continued, however, gusting against the building, blowing around the mist.

He turned, surprised, when she sat up suddenly. Her eyes were tired but not red-rimmed or puffy. She hadn't been crying at all.

"I'm going for a walk."

He watched her go, unable to voice a protest. At least if she went for a walk, she wasn't moping around the Aoiya.

* * *

Misao sighed, taking one glance at her bare feet before stepping out.

A little water never hurt anyone.

Water had saturated the ground. It seemed like it had been raining forever. She picked her head up, searching the sky, but the sun was deeply hidden.

It was all so depressing.

It was days like this...she recalled.

Days like this that broke her heart. Days like this that reminded her she wasn't good enough. She wasn't enough.

It was a day like this Aoshi had left her. She remembered so vividly waking and finding Aoshi was gone and Okina's futile placation's.

That night it rained. That night it poured over the Aoiya. She spent the night rocking herself in a blanket, curled up by a window, weeping over him.

Weeping and hurting. He'd left her there. Alone, a child abandoned.

Six months past, he left her again. He'd left a note for her, but she refused to read it. She didn't need to.

She wasn't good enough a reason for him to stay.

She. The one person who loved him more than anyone in the world.

But it wasn't good enough.

He didn't want to be loved, and it hurt so much.

Nothing eased the pain. Not the screaming aches her muscles gave her when she trained too long. Not the burn of her skin when she warmed her bath water too hot. Not the hallucinations she suffered depriving herself of sleep. Not the pinching, rumbling ache of her stomach when she didn't eat enough or often enough. Not the slick feel of her own blood as she carelessly nicked her fingers with her own kunai.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

So he went off, doing what was best for himself while convincing himself it was also best for her.

That made her so angry.

So very angry.

How could he decide what was best for her? A man who had spent his life making mistakes?

She didn't love him any less for anything he'd done, except for leaving her. Twice.

Ironically enough, the night he left, it rained.

It rained and she cried, again remembering all the people in her life who weren't there anymore. She shut everyone else out, dedicating herself only to their memory.

It was all she had, but she couldn't dwell forever. She couldn't push away those who did love her and were still around. She picked her head up glancing around again.

The ground beneath her feet was cold and wet. Her feet were muddy. She could feel dirt between her toes.

She walked down the street quietly. No one was really out today. She headed down a corner alley. She couldn't stand being around others right now.

She was tired. She would probably head back to the Aoiya, crawl into bed and not get up until the next morning.

That's what she really wanted to do.

She ached. Tears seemed imminent, but never came.

There would be no crying today. Nature had done all the crying for her. It was a sentimental thought from the past. Somehow, thinking of it that way always made her smile.

She walked along the empty Kyoto streets, wandering.

Wandering.

Aoshi was wandering.

She hadn't mentioned him since he left, but he'd never strayed from her thoughts.

What was he doing out there? All alone? Was he alone? Maybe he'd found out he did want to be loved, just not by her?

She never ceased battering herself with the cruel thoughts. Over and over again she would wonder such things.

She walked to the end of the street she was traveling on and stopped and leaned back. She was wet, the building was wet. She could feel the moisture soaking through her clothes.

She sighed, staring down the vacant streets. No one seemed to come out much in the rain. She turned her gaze skyward, the blue skies were missing today, hidden behind the heavy, rain laden clouds.

It would rain again soon. It might even rain again tomorrow.

She pushed away from the wall and started back toward the Aoiya. Her feet were partially numb, she couldn't feel her toes. Her legs were cold from her mid-thighs to her ankles as were her arms. She trembled, shivering as she walked, actively trying to stop the involuntary spasms of her muscles.

She couldn't live her life always looking back. Something that had occurred to her many times.

Aoshi was part of the past now. As much as it pained her, she would have to let go. Even, she thought, when it rained.

At the same time she saw no reason for her to give up what she wanted. This was something important to her.

Maybe if she just handled it a different way, her day of mourning.

She recognized her surroundings quickly. Kyoto, a big, elegant place, was home to her. The Aoiya was only one street over from where she currently stood. She'd never get lost in Kyoto, despite the size or similarity of the streets.

She'd learned them all through the years, walking, going every which way.

She headed in that direction absently. It was silent when she reached the old inn; no one appeared to be around anywhere. She headed to her room without announcing she was back.

She padded to her room silently, her feet still wet and cold. She would get yelled at about the muddy tracks tomorrow. She slid the door open, almost without sound and sighed into the empty room. She stepped within the dim confines, sliding the door closed behind her.

Such a quiet, desolate place it seemed. Yet it was her place of comfort. Her futon was still laid out on the floor from that morning.

The sound of movement behind her didn't startle her. She turned lazily to see who had sneaked up on her. Omasu and Okon often came into her room with clean laundry, putting her things away while she was out. It wasn't unusual.

But when she turned back, there was no Okon or Omasu. There was no Jiya smiling at her. Not even Kuro or Shiro shifting awkwardly, unsure of how to word what they wanted to say, yet clearly uncomfortable being there.

No.

It wasn't them.

She stared, meeting icy colored eyes.

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	2. II

Rainbows in the Water

Part 2 of 3

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**II**

"Aoshi..." she spoke, voice dead and flat.

Her expression was mild, tired, but not hostile. Aoshi was back? So it seemed, she thought, staring at him as he leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed, his eyes trained on her.

He showed no signs of moving.

Her mouth twitched downward into a frown.

Just standing there.

Silent.

Just there.

Not moving. Not speaking. Not anything.

A ghost of a person, almost. Maybe she'd lost her sanity and he wasn't there at all. Maybe she was staring at nothing. Was that possible?

She shook her head as though writing off the entire 'insane' incident. After all, he hadn't spoken. Maybe she was just tired. She hadn't slept for well over 24 hours. Hallucinations were common the longer she stayed awake she'd found. Although, usually she just ended up hearing things. She'd never imagined a person before though.

She turned toward the window, walking to the cabinet on the other side reaching in for a yukata. It was a new one. Omasu had bought it for her. It was pink, not her favorite color, but she liked it. It was covered in white fluffy clouds or something, she hadn't been quite sure on that point.

She yawned, yanking the tie on her shirt and shrugging off the cold, wet garment. Even her hair was wet. She unfolded the garment and pulled it over her shoulders, wrapping her arms around her chest, pulling the material tight. It was so warm...

She pulled the tie at her waist and kicked off the cold shorts, pulling off the wet, white silk beneath. The undergarment worn beneath her shorts were hand-designed and hand sewn for her by Okon. Okon had taught her how to do it herself a couple years ago.She didn't sew very often, but occasionally she found it was nice to forget about other things. She was usually so caught up in trying to fix some mini-disaster in her stitching that everything else faded completely from her mind.

She sighed, tying the little strings she'd sewn onto the garment. She reached up, grabbing a blue sash from the dresser top and tying it about her waist.

"Misao."

She leaned forward, propping her elbows up on the window sill. It was hazy outside, the rain fading off again. It looked like fog was rising along the grounds, in between the buildings. She sighed.

"Misao."

She stood a bit straighter.

Was her illusion talking? She glanced back with tired eyes and just as quickly glanced away. He hadn't moved.

Rainy...

She was really starting to hate rainy weather. Maybe she could leave Japan...

Move to some other foreign country. Was there somewhere it didn't rain? Somehow, she doubted it.

She didn't hear silent footfalls along her floor. She didn't sense the movement of her illusion in the room.

She did hear the soft rustle of cloth as it hit the floor. A wet rustling sound as another wet garment hit the shiny wood floor.

She stopped, holding herself perfectly still, listening as more clothes hit the floor. Clothes, no, maybe just cloth. One more garment. Should she look back?

Surely, she hadn't imagined Aoshi and he was really standing there? And if she'd heard clothes, what on earth was he now wearing? She didn't dare turn away.

The lofty half-hearted notion that the Aoshi she'd seen staring at her, more than half-shadowed in the inky darkness, was an illusion now completely evaporated. She'd never imagined him standing around before anyway, at least, not where she could actually see him. He appeared over and over again in her head, but not before now, in her actual line of vision.

She turned back around - might as well face it. It wasn't like she could run and she was anything but a coward.

The sight had her mouth dry in a moment and eyes wide.

Nope, no imagination there.

There he stood. Bare-chested and beautiful and... why was he half-naked?

"Aoshi-" Her tongue itched for the '-sama', but she managed to refrain. "What are you-" She started to ask why he was in her room, but wondered maybe if that was the wrong thing to say.

Here he was, back from his "mission", he certainly didn't look any different. She felt a frown on her lips. She felt suddenly tempted to cross her arms, glare at him and demand an explanation for his absence.

Better yet, why wasn't the beautiful blockhead saying anything?

"Well?" she asked, feeling the explosive wick of her temper quickly expiring. "All soul-searched out?"

Nothing could have held back the bitterness in her voice and she felt suddenly sorry for it. Imagine, her, young girl that she was, bitter.

She'd always thought bitterness was reserved for middle-aged women who'd never managed to find a husband. How misguided she was...

Bitterness could strike at any age, with enough provocation, couldn't it?

He still did not grant her a reply, just standing there silently. Like a tree, she thought. Immovable and silent.

He stood - skin glistening wet, still half soaked. The bottom half, she noted, not about to comment on that.

What to say then?

Figuring he wasn't going to say anything she reached over, grabbed a towel from by the bureau and tossed it at him.

If it went sailing right through him and landed against the baseboard on the other side of the room she'd crack up laughing and then apologize to Jiya downstairs. Then she would explain to him she'd gone insane and needed help immediately.

But it didn't happen.

The cloth landed against his chest, hitting him in the face. One of his arms rose, his fingers fisting in the material, gathering it in his fist as he lowered it, pulling it down. For a moment, he let it hang by his side, the bottom not even touching the floor.

"If you're not going to say anything, get out of my room."

She silently counted, trying, actively trying, not to shout at him. She could behave herself, she could, she said, over and over again.

She heaved a sigh, and turned her back to him again, absently reaching for the end of her braid.

So, he comes back and then what?

If he couldn't say anything but her name did that make him more complete or less complete? Hadn't he been searching for some type of completeness? Wasn't that what "soul searching" was?

She'd never done any herself, having never felt compelled to do so. She knew that he'd had a rough time, and she knew she didn't understand the kind of pain he was in and had been through in the past. It didn't mean he had to push her away like she was some annoyingly persistent child determined to disturb him at every turn.

She pulled the clip from her hair and began sliding her fingers through the braid, letting the wet waves spill over her hands.

Letting it curl around and over her shoulder, she continued to comb through it, wondering.

What now?

She made a sour face and turned back, he didn't seem to have moved at all. She stared at him a moment, and he stared back just intensely.

"I wonder ..." she mused aloud and then shook it off. It wasn't the time for wondering, it was time for sleeping. Her exhaustion was catching up with her and an embittered chafing was setting in. "I'm going to bed now."

"You've been upstairs most of the day?" His voice was sudden, but didn't surprise her. It figured he'd want to be confrontational just when she was throwing him out.

And what the hell did he think he was doing speaking like that so out of the blue? He just walks in after months and doesn't even say hello? Instead, he starts right in on scolding her?

It was so unfair!

"I've been downstairs most of the day, actually," she corrected, reeling in her temper tight.

The towel was still hanging limply in his hand.

"You still behave like this when it rains?" he asked, voice devoid of any accusation or mockery, just flat. "You're worrying them."

As though he had some grand right to tell her about worrying. She knew more about worrying than he ever would - he'd wandered around the country with grown men, people he hadn't had to worry about. He hadn't worried about _her _having _left her _behind.

She grit her teeth in anger at the thought. She was so not in the mood for this.

"Don't you dare say two more words to me about worrying anyone!" She narrowed her eyes on him.

She heard, more than saw the towel hit the floor, but she definitely saw his hand when it rose and moved toward her.

She didn't feel at all threatened when his fingers touched the column of her neck, or even when they slid around, sliding up through her hair.

It wasn't until his hand tightened against her scalp, pulling against the strands of her hair and the sudden, forward motion that she gasped.

She closed her eyes as she fell forward against him, but his arms didn't wrap around her. He stood there stiff and still, one hand resting at the base of her neck, his fingers curled gently around, the other hand at his side.

"I was looking..." He started and trailed off. "...for the wrong thing."

Her eyes fluttered open. What did he mean?

Leaving the Aoiya, while he regretted it on one hand, on the other it had been far more beneficial than he could have anticipated.

At first, he merely wanted solace.

Away.

Away from her.

Away from Misao.

The easy forgiveness she'd heaped on him had been a crushing condemnation, although he was certain she had only been trying to make things easier for him.

Despite everything, she still welcomed him back.

She still called him "home".

So he'd had to get away - to leave. To see if he felt the same if she weren't around.

Nothing had changed. If anything he'd only felt empty. So he'd walked and he'd traveled aimlessly, he'd sought and worked his way through nature on a giant camping trip and found it all worthless.

The only thing he'd realized wandering around was he was doing the opposite of those dearest to him had wanted.

He wasn't "living".

He was breathing dead air, living a dead life.

It was that epiphany that had driven him to turn his feet in the reverse direction and head back. It was that that had compelled him to walk through the rain, soaking himself through so that it chilled him straight down to his skin.

It was that that had him following around an equally aimless girl through the streets of Kyoto and then stealing himself away in her room.

Misao was the closest thing to "life" he'd ever known.

He stepped away from her to strip off the clingy, wet pants and then grabbed her once more. He reached and held onto her as though he expected her to drag herself away, to fight or kick…

She remained still and stiff, her eyes locked ahead of her. He slid his hand to her waist and slipped the knot of her sash. With cold hands he pushed the material off her shoulders, feeling the quiver of her body as he did so.

It fell with whispered grace to the floor, and he, holding onto her, slipped down into her futon. He pulled her against him tight, their cold skin melding, warming slowly as the blankets held their body heat close.

Nuzzling his head down at the crook of her neck, he took a great, deep breath, and drifted to sleep.

* * *

Okon ascended the stairs irritably. Misao had promised she'd be up early to help. She slid open the door of the girl's bedroom without notice and paused, the girl's name dying promptly on her lips.

In Misao's futon, beneath the window, the girl was lying. It wasn't the sight of Misao in her own bed that startled her.

It was Misao lying in the naked arms of the once missing former leader, Aoshi. That startled her.

Her jaw fell.

Surely she wasn't seeing this.

Surely, his arms and obviously naked chest weren't pressed against Misao in an equally undressed position.

Surely, that wasn't Aoshi …

Surely…

Surely, she was wrong?

When his eyes flickered open and landed on her she almost jumped backwards out the door and slid it shut, heart pounding.

No…

That was exactly what she'd seen.

Quickly, she headed back to the kitchen. Omasu was already there, preparing little balls of rice. The other woman looked up as she heard her feet.

"Where's Misao? Is she ready? We need to be going soon."

"I don't think Misao will be coming with us today," Okon responded carefully, glancing around to see if the others were nearby. "She isn't…"

Omasu stopped what she was doing and dried her hands on a towel. "She isn't what? Is she sick? Is she exhausted? Is she hurt? What?"

"She isn't alone."

Omasu paused to take in the comment. "Alone?" she asked tentatively, obviously trying to figure out who could be keeping the girl. "You mean…?"

"I mean she's in bed with…" Okon glanced around, leaned forward and then whispered. "Aoshi-sama. They're up there in bed together, wearing nothing, Omasu."

The other woman's eyes widened. "Nothing? Are you sure?"

"Well they aren't laying there naked, but their chests are pressed together, and he's holding her and… I assume the rest of them is…"

"I didn't even know Aoshi-sama was back yet," the other replied, frowning. "Is that bad or good?"

"I don't know, but let's get out of here before the others wake. Maybe they'll assume Misao is with us and not disturb her."

She nodded; they finished their preparations and went.

* * *

AN: I have clinicals Sat. & Sun. and Comcast is doing work on Sunday so bleh... I don't know that I'll have time to upload this so I'm doing it now. 


	3. III

**Rainbows in the Water**

III**

* * *

**

She was warm, perfectly inviting. He curled into her, trying to wrap himself in her, but she was simply too little. He was forced to settle having her cuddled against him, completely enveloped.

Wandering, he'd gone through both fair and rainy weather, stopping and staring at this or that. He'd sat on riverbanks and dropped stones into the water, listening to the wet plunking sounds. Sitting there, he'd recalled times when he'd spent days watching Misao play and splash in streams and puddles.

Leaned back against trees to hide beneath their broad canopies from the rain, he'd remembered training in the old days. He'd remembered bonfires and great gatherings in the courtyards. He remembered watching Misao dance with the women outside, her face happy and bright.

Trembling in the cold after dipping himself in a lake to wash, he'd plucked leeches from his toes and thought of gently smiling faces. He'd thought of his joy of cooking and painting and listening to the others have quiet conversations.

He felt like a nomad. Completely invisible, desired but not wanted, not loved. Not treasured for anything more than a pretty face or his sword skill.

Only one person in his life had ever made him feel he was more than a quality, that he was more than something to be used, a decorative piece with a deadly edge. It was Misao alone who had seen more in him than anyone else. It was she who had invested her hopes in him; it was her who seeded his heart with her love. For the longest time it had remained there, that tiny seed of hope, repressed into the darkest regions, remaining dormant.

It was only a dusty path turned muddy by rain and a journey to nowhere that finally seemed to crack the walled shell he'd encased himself within. Standing alone on a bridge, staring into shimmering waters he'd seen his reflection and frowned at it.

He'd stared into haunted eyes he barely recognized as his own and a grim pale face… and yet she loved him still?

She could still look into him and see something, when he himself saw little.

He didn't want to see it anymore. He didn't want to feel empty and useless to the world. He knew of only one way to assuage it, one way to ease his burdens and only Misao could do it, because only Misao had ever wanted to.

She would never know, never understand the depths to which he cherished her, had always cherished her. It was visions of Misao, though forbidden as he made them, that gave him something to smile about when the others had slept or he sat alone, pretending to read or simply staring away into nothingness. It was Misao, who came running to him with open arms and open smiles that made him happy, that lit a small fire in him.

He wanted that.

He wanted it back; he wanted to be warmed by something, by someone.

He wanted to start and explore a mature relationship, something he'd never done before. He wanted to marry; he wanted to know her, all of her against him. He wanted to know how she felt against him and how he'd feel within her. He wanted to watch her little frame grow big with a baby, he wanted it so much.

He wanted to live.

He wanted to share it with her…

Against him, she stirred. Her breath was hot against his chest, a wisp of air. He leaned down, tilting her little face up. She was so tiny against him, so small…

He adored, above all things, how small she was against him. She made him feel like he was good enough to protect her, to love her when he wasn't always sure.

The skin of her face was soft against his callused fingertips. There were bindings across her chest and a slip of something about her waist and he too, was not completely nude, his fundoshi guarding the parts of him he wanted to touch her. He mouthed her name, but not a sound passed his lips as he leaned close letting his mouth hover over hers.

She was angry at him for leaving her behind. Always leaving, always leaving her, the one person who more than anyone wanted him to stay.

Would she accept him now? Even after all this time?

He crossed the distance and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. She stirred further, her eyes fluttering open, focusing and then shot wide, her pupils dilating sharply.

"A--shi-sama!"

He leaned down to nuzzle his face into her neck, his breath fanning against her skin hotly. He could feel the strong pulse of her heart through her skin.

"Misao..." he murmured softly. "Can we get married?"

She reacted without delay, her arms coming up to slide around his shoulders. They huddled together in the bed, shifting their bodies about. He raised his head to press his face closer to hers, their foreheads touching.

He was a tired, broken man. He peered at her with the utmost hopelessness, his eyes betraying he'd found nothing in the world. Nothing in it but her.

He was a spirit devoid of life without the person who'd showed him his life meant something. He'd discovered he'd been missing that and now, staring into her bright, wide eyes, he felt it all the more.

The dull tugging in his head became a thundering, the repetitive sound of waves crashing destructively against delicate sandy shores.

In a move that astonished him, she didn't answer him verbally, she just cuddled him against her. Her little arms wrapped around him as though she'd just been given back her most prized possession, something she'd once thought lost forever.

He sighed and relaxed into her, his anxiety peeled away like flaking, sunburned skin.

Maybe it made no sense at all, his wandering, his revelations...

Maybe he was merely undercutting his own desires with doubt. He realized now it was something he'd always done. He'd constantly denied himself his own happiness; he'd sabotaged his life and even now, in her arms, misgivings were setting in.

* * *

It was midday before she woke. The sun was streaming brightly into her room announcing the rain had gone. Abruptly, she realized she was late and just as quickly she grasped that she wasn't alone in her bed. She stared, blinking sleep fuzzy eyes at the man in the bed with her. She was awed in amazement at how much of his skin she could feel against her body and how he seemed to be so… cozy … around her. 

He seemed so comfortable, so… at peace.

He was beautiful, she thought.

She was staring at the face of a man she hadn't seen since she was a child…

What was going on?

Where was the angst tortured man who had returned to the Aoiya and then abandoned her again? Who was this person who looked like Aoshi-sama beside her?

When had he even gotten here, she wondered. The previous day was a blur in her mind, one slow moving train to nowhere. She remembered moping around and getting wet and going to bed.

Wait, hadn't Okon come to her room in the morning hours?

No…

Wait, had she?

No… she would've heard her…

And yet… Okon wouldn't forget… So…

Did Okon see her in bed with Aoshi-sama?

Misao felt her face flush at the implications of what Okon may have seen and inferred from the situation.

He still slumbered on beside her. She reached up as much as she could and shook his frame by grabbing his shoulder and shoving. He shifted and his eyes fluttered open and she knew one thing immediately.

He hadn't been sleeping.

She didn't even know where to start. Her mouth sort of half gaped as she thought about it… where was the correct place to begin?

"Misao… Can we get married?"

His voice was like a tiny squeak without the high pitch. It was a small, weird sound from his mouth. Why was he talking so…? Was he sick!

"Aoshi-sama, are you okay? Did you get a cold in the rain yesterday?" She moved, but his arms were around her and kept her from moving to leave the bed. "You could be deleterious with fever!"

He curled his fingers around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest and she froze against him, his warmth pooling over her. He was so big and heavy and … he smelled so good. She took a deep, slow breath.

Was he sick? He wasn't… was he?

Her fantasy was coming true right before her very eyes and she felt like she was hallucinating it all.

"I no longer wish to be an instrument of war or death or deception."

She lifted her head up, trying to see his face and he rolled her beneath him. He kneeled over her, his knees spread. The blanket gaped between their bodies. She gaped at being able to see so much of him, his skin so open to her. Self-consciously she drew her arms up over her barely covered chest feeling awkward, but he showed no discomfort.

"I want you to end this, Misao."

Her eyes widened. "End… what, exactly?" She was too afraid of his tone and the haunted painful look in his eyes to react any other way. She was caught between a hot flush and cold chills of fear.

"The Oniwanbanshuu." She gasped, startled and opened her mouth to object, but he continued. "I want to be a man of peace now. The war is over, this group is a relic."

"It's not a relic!" she snapped, but her voice lacked the conviction it should've had. She could barely breathe with him so close and… His hands were so near to her shoulders and…

He leaned down; she could see the movement of his muscles beneath his skin. It was slow and steady as he lowered himself, the weight of his body being held upon his forearms. She trembled unsure what she was feeling, was she afraid or was this something else?

"I'm tired now. I want you dedicated to me only, I won't share. Not you, not with the Oniwabanshuu. Take me… _please… _Now."

"Wha? Take you, what? What do you mean now ?" She reeled in confusion as he jumped from one sentence to another. He wanted her to get rid of the Oniwabanshuu because he wanted her for himself?

Since when?

She almost kicked herself, since when did that matter? If he wanted her, he wanted her and that was that…

But there was that pleading in the 'please', as if he feared rejection from her. She'd never turn him away, not for anything, but was he saying to choose between him and the Oniwabanshuu?

Could she make that kind of choice?

And what did "take me" mean? Was that another way of saying "pick me"? She didn't know!

"Misao…"

She blinked herself out of her thoughts as his voice registered again. What now?

"Now…" he repeated softly.

"Now, what? And if I say yes to that does that mean-"

He shook his head slightly, silencing her. "Details later, say yes."

"Yes," she repeated dutifully.

She just managed to slip the words past her lips before he crushed them with his own. She thought her heart would beat straight out of her chest. Heat poured along her skin, flushing her whole body.

From the door, there came a tapping. "My little Misao-channn, it is lunch time!" Okina sang from the doorway.

Aoshi broke his lips from hers immediately. He slammed his palm _hard_ against the floor boards, glaring toward the doorway.

"She's busy!" he snarled, _loudly_, like a rabid dog snapping its teeth.

There was no response from the other side of the door as the old man, presumably, retreated.

Misao stared at him in astonishment.

"Aoshi-sama, are you sure you're okay?" Her lips felt swollen and her chest felt like it was heaving, her breathing labored.

There was nothing wrong with him. She didn't want or need his answer; she wanted only something to say to break the weird silence.

It proved unnecessary.

Staring up at him, she discovered she wanted more of him. He turned his attention back to her, and if the look on his face was any indication, he intended to give her more.

* * *

Okina nodded gravely. "I understand." 

Misao frowned at him. "Are you sure? No, we…" she sighed heavily and stood up. "I'm going to bed."

"Of course, sleep well Misao," Okina replied, his voice sedate.

Her words still rung in the air. _"I want the Oniwabanshuu spy networks disabled. Close our offices." _

He watched her go and heard her light footsteps as she went up the stairs.

So Aoshi had done it after all, the old man thought, a faint smile coming to his lips.

The Aoiya was suffering, it was burdened. With the establishment and success of the new government so far along there had been little need for their organization. Work for the spies was hard to come by and they were all suffering. The Aoiya survived by its business, but the other cover businesses were not flourishing. Even the Aoiya did not do as well as it could.

It was a pure miracle that Aoshi had walked back through their doors. He had been beyond distraught over how to handle Misao, especially with her recent behavior. He had been jumping through hoops to keep the information from her, worried it would only further upset her.

His astonishment had been further compounded by Aoshi's coming through the door soaked through.

_"__Where is Misao?" _

_Okina stared up at Aoshi in amazement. Water dripped from his frame, his hair was plastered to his head. _

_"Eh… she's out. Taking a walk…" Okina replied evasively._

_"In the rain?" _

_Okina nodded and tugged on his beard. "That she is. It's been a … rough day for her." _

_Aoshi stood there several long moments in silence just staring at Okina as though he believed the man was lying to him. "I wish to marry her, do you object?"_

_M-marry her? _

_The old man's mouth almost fell open at the abrupt nature of the request. "Well, no… I… by all means, but Aoshi… I think we should speak before you approach her on that."_

_"You do object then?" the younger man asked, his voice edged._

_"No, this is quite another matter. Misao has been… distant over the past few days. Things are going badly for us, the Oniwabanshuu spy groups. We're all fraying at our edges, losing members and money. It's time we shut down, we cannot survive this way. Supporting the other branches is killing the Aoiya."_

_"Misao doesn't know?" _

_Okina shook his head. "She has been far too upset to speak with, especially about something that will disturb her so much."_

_"You wish me to ask her then?"_

_Okina nodded. "There is nothing I will be able to say to convince her that this is right. The last time I said so she declared herself Okashira to save us, but we just cannot continue anymore."_

_Aoshi took a deep breath, sighing heavily. "You doubt her maturity that much?"_

_Okina turned away. "It is not a matter of her maturity. This is her home and life, she is attached to so deeply I fear she may not see past her rationalizations. Misao is an optimist at heart, I believe she will try to make it work, will insist upon it, and I have tried. We can do nothing. Convince her, Aoshi." _

_Without answering, the younger turned toward the door and disappeared into the rain. _

How the man had managed it, Okina wouldn't wonder. His worries were rapidly vanishing as all his problems seemed to click into place with their solutions. The Aoiya, and Misao were his two top priorities and it seemed they would be fine.

He smiled.

His little girl was getting married.

* * *

Misao was confused and displeased and thrilled all at the same time. 

_"Can we get married?"_

Could they get married?

Yes!

They absolutely could.

But why?

Maybe she shouldn't question it? Wasn't there an expression about questioning fortune? She couldn't recall it off-hand and so didn't trouble herself further over it.

But truly, what would she do about him?

Fortune.

Fate.

Did she believe in such things?

Good fortune, certainly.

Fate? That she was never certain of.

She slid her door open and stepped inside. Aoshi remained on the floor, laid out in her futon. His head was back, his face toward the ceiling. He breathed deep and even, but she didn't assume he was asleep. In response, he turned his head in her direction, turning his one ear toward the floor.

"It went well?"

She nodded. "I guess so. He took it okay."

She felt her cheeks flush as she recalled how much of his skin she'd seen and felt and … tasted.

She averted her eyes. What was she going to do about this?

"I want to marry soon."

She felt herself nodding in reply. He motioned her toward the bed and she crawled in discarding nothing except her slippers. His arms closed around her and she felt her own nervous trembles shake her all the way down to her fingertips.

"Okay," she murmured. "Is it all right to get married? Are you sure?"

The arms folded about her closed in tight, pulling her down against him, atop him. She felt awkward laying on him, feeling his naked body beneath her clothes and she flushed deeper recalling just how much more about that body she know knew.

He pressed his mouth against her neck and breathed in softly, his eyes falling closed. "There's nothing else," he murmured.

"Nothing else?" She was confused and afraid to press forward, fearful of asking for more. What if it was just some beautiful dream? What if she was misunderstanding and to completely understand would upset her? Did she want to know everything?

He shifted beneath her and she suddenly found herself flipped back against the futon and him leaning over her. She gasped as he knelt between her knees. Despite herself, her eyes flickered down his body and then darted back up. He didn't show any indication of either noticing or minding that she was eyeing his nakedness.

"I brought something for you from my trip," he stated, but showed no indication that he intended to give it to her right then. He remained leaning over her, staring down at her intently, like he was waiting.

"Oh? What did you bring?" she asked, more to get him to move off of her rather than excitement over the gift. He was staring so keenly and it was more than a little distracting for him to be leaning over her so… seductively.

He was just all … there.

"C-can I see it?" she ventured, beginning to feel jittery.

He shifted back and she was more than a little relieved when he pulled on his pants. He moved toward the door and she sighed, waving a hand in front of her face to cool her flamed cheeks. She hoped this feeling went away, it was… weird and somewhat thrilling and it made her nervous.

He fiddled with something near the doorway for several minutes before returning to her. In his hands was a rolled sheet of parchment, a strip of cloth tied about the center. It looked like a piece of ripped fabric, she thought absently as she sat up. He handed it to her and then sat down on the bedding beside her.

She pulled the ties on the bow and discarded the fabric strip. She slowly unrolled it holding onto the top of the paper. The colors were light. The scene was of a long, empty, worn road, a mountain was in the far distance, and a river alongside the far left edge…

There was also a girl with a braid…

Everywhere…

The girl was…

The girl was _everywhere_.

Small figures decorated the painting; figures she could only guess were herself judging by the hair and clothes. Sitting along the river side, walking ahead far away in the distance, standing against a tree, high up upon the mountain ledge… She was everywhere in this picture.

_"There's nothing else," _he'd said. Was this … his trip? Had he… seen nothing but her?

Could that be possible or was she making something far more significant than was meant with this simple gift?

"I don't understand," she murmured, keeping her eyes glued to the picture.

What was the message here?

Did she understand?

Did this mean then, he had gone searching for something amazing, something world-shaking and instead found all he … all …. All what? She frowned as she stared.

Had he been seeking something to bring him peace and instead had been tormented with guilt over her? Leaving her or something? Or was this, too, the wrong angle?

"There's a lot of paths a man can take," he began to speak. His voice was a low, rumbling timbre that had a rolling ease to it. That was the best way to describe the sound. "When every path ends with a vision from something behind you, then you're going the wrong way."

She was overcome.

It started somewhere deep within and just popped, exploding outward before she'd even realized she'd held it in for so long. Hope realized, love acknowledged, something… she didn't even care what it was…

Tears brimmed and pooled and fell over, warming her eyes and her cheeks. A gentle chime of laughter escaped her lips, a smile curving her mouth. The painting was dropped at the wayside when she awkwardly threw herself into his arms. Their bodies bumped together, chest against chest, the impact jarring but satisfying.

It was the good, solid touch of reality instead of the soft, wisps of fantasy.

"You're right, Aoshi-sama! Let's get married now!" Giddiness overcame her and her laughter spilled over, lighting the dim room with happiness.

He didn't verbally respond to the comment; instead, he twisted them back down to lie in the bed, her beneath him. She thought she saw him smile, but it could've been her imagination. She didn't care.

He didn't have to say anything at all.

She knew.

He was home and now that he was here, she could be home too.

No more would she need to allow her heart to fly away and leave her.

From this point forward, she would only see rainbows in the water.

* * *

The End 

AN: Ah ha! DONE! insert maniacal laughter

Thank you, I hope you're not disappointed I kind of was with it, but I'm glad its done and over with.   



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